English poetry

Poets Х Biographies Х Poem Themes Х Random Poem Х
The Rating of Poets Х The Rating of Poems

Poem by Philip Sidney


Sonnet 59. Dear, Why Make You More


Dear, why make you more of a dog than me?
If he do love, I burn, I burn in love;
If he wait well, I never thence would move;
If he be fair, yet but a dog can be.

Little he is, so little worth is he;
He barks, my songs thine own voice oft doth prove:
Bidden perhaps he fetcheth thee a glove,
But I unbid, fetch ev'n my soul to thee.

Yet while I languish, him that bosom clips,
That lap doth lap, nay lets in spite of spite
This sour-breath'd mate taste of those sugar'd lips.

Alas, if you grant only such delight
To witless thngs, then Love I hope (since wit
Becomes a clog) will soon ease me of it. 



Philip Sidney


Philip Sidney's other poems:
  1. The Bargain
  2. Ring Out Your Bells
  3. Psalm 23
  4. Voices at the Window
  5. Philomela


Poem to print Print

1886 Views



Last Poems


To Russian version


–ейтинг@Mail.ru

English Poetry. E-mail eng-poetry.ru@yandex.ru